


In Memory of

by asuralucier



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Character Study, Dream Sex, Memory, Multi, Pre film mostly, Stereotypical French menage a trois babble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 00:38:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18680557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asuralucier/pseuds/asuralucier
Summary: Just another interpretation of "she was lovely."





	In Memory of

**Author's Note:**

> A repost from 2010. I think i wrote this on the way home from seeing the film.

It is Cobb who teaches Arthur to forget things. It makes things much easier, he’d say, and Arthur has no real reason to disbelieve him. So Arthur forgets everything, because aside from how much time he spends putting on a suit each morning, Arthur prefers things simple. (And because he desperately _wants_ to be like Cobb.) 

Arthur even (mostly) forgets the first time that he has sex with a man in real life. A seedy bar, his head swimming with the help of bitter Scotch. A man walks up to him, armed with a smirk just barely disguised as a smile; it doesn’t fool Arthur, even for a moment. The man leans close to him and says -- 

_You must not be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling._ His voice smells warm, inviting. A touch of cigarette smoke, a pinch of whiskey. 

It’s the only thing Arthur really remembers from that night. (Though the sex must have been decent because he’s pleasantly sore for the next two days.) 

(Except Arthur isn’t like Cobb, not at all. Cobb is good at remembering the things that are important. The things that _matter_.)

 

Arthur has resigned himself to the fact that Cobb probably won’t ever fuck him, not in real life. He’s all right with that, only because interoffice relations (although neither of them work a normal nine to five in adjoining cubicles), complicates everything. Besides, Arthur is meant to be a practical man anyway, and sex with Cobb is impractical for all sorts of reasons. 

In Arthur’s dreams, things are allowed to be different -- he allows them to be different. Dreams are such whimsical, intimate things, and he can never bear to be dishonest in them. Arthur can dream up fancy hotel suites with heavy chandeliers, expensive champagne that he wishes that he could like (but clearly champagne is an acquired taste), and Cobb will smile at him like a lover. 

Cobb will tug the immaculate knot of Arthur’s tie loose in one fluid motion, while Arthur tries to remember how to breathe. 

And then he’d say, _Arthur, I want you. All I’ve ever wanted, is you._

_Yes, yes, fuck yes._

In Arthur’s very worst nightmares, they’re pressed up against up against each other in the shower, drenched in lukewarm water. Cobb smirks at him, calls him darling in a voice that isn't even his, and bites his throat. Still, Arthur remembers every detail. He does not (can’t) forget. 

 

Cobb is in love with Mal. Anyone can tell that, as if love has finally bared Cobb of all his secrets. Arthur thinks that Mal is lovely, but perhaps he’d really ought to hate her on a principle. When he meets her for the very first time, she is wearing a sleek black dress and heels. Arthur can’t help but stare at her legs. When she gets close enough to accidentally knock against his knee, Mal laughs, clear and brilliant. (Arthur also thinks that ‘Mal’ cannot be her real name, just some moniker that Cobb has given her on a whim.) 

Oh, I’m so sorry. You must be Arthur. She holds out a hand, her nails are dark red. Dom has told me so much about you, his genius protege, a pleasure to finally meet you. 

Arthur takes her hand, presses a kiss to her knuckle before he loses his fucking nerve, and Cobb beams at him quietly from across the table. 

 

In Arthur’s dreams, Mal is there too, watching them through the shower door. He doesn't remember inviting her. Through the fogged glass, Arthur can see her hands slipping between her thighs as she braces herself against the sink with one arm. When she opens her mouth, she calls, not only Dom, but Arthur too. _Arthur, Arthur, oh Arthur._

Somehow, Arthur gets the door open, and he has one leg wrapped around Cobb’s waist. Cobb is doing something wondrously wicked with his tongue to Arthur’s throat, but he pauses to watch. 

Arthur says, _Mal, come here_. And she does. Neither of them look surprised, although the same can’t be said for Arthur himself. It's rare that a dream surprises him. In fact, it's nearly impossible. 

Mal joins them in the shower, and the space is too small for three, but they manage to fit. Between the two of them, Cobb hikes up her dress and tries to tug it over her head and Arthur fumbles with the zipper. She’s naked, the dress a forgotten velvet rag on the floor. 

Mal turns to smile at him -- Arthur is fascinated by the way her breasts feel against his tongue. He’s not so good with his tongue yet, but she’s patient with him. Neither of them call him darling. 

She throws her arms around both of them, kisses them both. Oh Dom, oh Arthur. Cobb reaches out to touch the side of Arthur’s face; they kiss, and it’s not so awkward. 

Afterwards, they stumble to a large bed with fresh sheets. Arthur drifts off to Mall murmuring soothing French he thinks he ought to understand in his ear, and Cobb clutching him close. 

 

Out of nothing but morbid curiosity, Arthur goes to see Mal when Cobb isn’t home. Mal serves him tea and fruit pastries in a bright skirt and a blouse. He still can’t stop looking at her legs. 

Arthur says, I don’t understand you. 

That’s code for either you are jealous of me, or that you are the one who doesn’t understand himself, Arthur. Mal takes the tea pot and refills his cup for him. Then she reaches for his hand and holds it in both of hers. I do not think you have to be either of those things. Every once in a while, she calls him _Arthur_ , lilting towards the French. Like _Le Morte D'Arthur_ even though that's not strictly French. 

Arthur stares at her. He doesn’t understand what she means, but he doesn’t want to admit to it, either. 

You love Cobb, and I love Dom. We complete him, don’t you see? We make him the happiest man alive. And perhaps someday, we will complete you, too. 

Arthur sees, and remembers. He puts his other hand on top of hers, and they don’t move for a very long time. Yes, yes I see. 

 

Arthur doesn’t want to remember the way Mal dies. He doesn't want to remember how unhappy she was and no one noticed. Cobb makes him go to her funeral anyway. Since Cobb isn’t there, the service is conducted entirely in French, aside from the few usual phrases, Arthur understands nothing. It helps with forgetting. He hopes Cobb doesn’t plan on making him translate. 

On the plane to London, he tugs at Cobb’s tie until it’s straight again and tells him --

You have to forget this. You have to forget everything. 

I can’t. I can’t forget any of it. If you knew me, you wouldn’t ask me to forget something like this. 

Arthur bites back, but that is what you have always taught me. They never talk about this again.

 

“Arthur?” 

Arthur can feel someone shaking his arm, Ariadne. In time, maybe she will be as lovely as Mal had once been. “I’m sorry?” 

“What was she like, Cobb’s wife?” 

To be honest, Arthur doesn’t remember much. So he shrugs and flits her a half smile, all practiced nonsense, “She was lovely.”


End file.
